The Touch
by Mill Girl
Summary: After Paris Nigel notices something unusual and realises he needs to act to help his friends achieve happiness.
1. Chapter 1

9

**Author's Note: **

I don't own anyone else's characters or make any money from them. This little story is in homage to all the other fantastic DWP family of writers who continue to inspire, amuse and entertain with their fabulous stories. Thank you all!

**The Touch.**

**Chapter One**

Nigel Kipling, Art Director at Runway Magazine in the great metropolis of New York City, realised the Universe had spun slightly off its axis just after 3pm on one of the last days of November. It was just a touch which caused it, as light and as unobtrusive as a swan's feather wafting in a breeze across the Central Park lake, a small, hidden thing, a nothingness.

He saw Miranda's hand reach up and smooth the tangled locks which fell over her assistant's collar, tucking them back from her face as she leant over the desk. Andrea's hair had a will of its own. It was always slipping out of pony tails, falling adrift from chignons and buns. It was headstrong, energetic and naturally prone to waving. It was actually like its owner in that way.

Nigel had swung through the door of the Editor's office, his arms full of proofs which he knew were bound to depress Miranda with their failings, but this touch from her, so unconscious she probably did not even know she'd done it, profoundly altered their own relationship and his understanding of her.

Andrea was standing next to the editor's desk, passing Miranda papers to sign or inspect, like the good little assistant she was supposed to be, an acolyte to the high priestess of fashion. He thought her stance was just fractionally more at ease than normal, and when Miranda smoothed her hair back, she neither flinched nor jumped in embarrassment.

She simply turned her head slightly towards the window and completed the movement herself, pushing her own hair back so Miranda could look directly up into her eyes. It was a second caught in time, but told him things from now on might just be rather different.

Neither women had noticed that he had seen anything untoward. Andrea hastily gathered up her papers on his entrance, gave him her usual shy but friendly grin, and slipped past him out of the office, back to her own space and desk festooned under post it notes and burdened with paper files. Miranda stared after her with an unreadable, impassive gaze, but somehow lacking her usual default expression of barely contained fury and frustration at all the idiocies of her world.

Something had definitely happened, something huge, something bigger than all the dynamics in their twenty years' friendship and working relationship. Miranda never touched a member of staff.

She barely acknowledged the humanity of her assistants, ignoring their blistered feet in four inch heels, their need to eat even occasionally, their need to pee more than once every twelve hours. She could have been served by robots for all she seemed to care.

Nigel's extreme curiosity about this change of behaviour completely outbid his reluctance to provoke the boss into what could easily become tight-lipped anger, and cutting sarcasm.

"What was that about?" he asked, his voice higher than normal, and Miranda immediately knew what he meant. She looked up, immaculate, beautiful, unknowable, and then her porcelain face turned a decided pink. Her features immediately dropped their frozen passivity and she sighed from deep within her elegant breast.

Some internal battle for control was being fought. He could see she was almost about to snap at his comment and raised eyebrow. But then she groaned.

"The oldest, saddest cliché in the world. Just like I'd expect my useless excuses for a husband to behave. A middle-aged boss chasing some illusion of youth by lusting over an assistant, a girl of twenty-four, female and straight, with a boyfriend, who is simply too polite to tell me to fuck off. I'm sinking here, Nigel. I really am. "

He had never, ever seen her be so open, so vulnerable, so obviously needing to confide in him, even ask his opinion on the matter. This was drama! This was like the opening of a new Broadway play!

He was entranced, and his natural affection for her paved his way deeper into the conversation. He guessed he must be the first person Miranda had confided in on this, and that like everyone in love or lust, she probably needed to talk about it to someone.

"So when did this, um, "thing" start?" He really wanted to know how far it had got, whether they had. . . " (Oh hell, the mind boggled at that idea.)

Miranda's answer surprised him. "Do you remember the first day she applied for the job? The dreadful clothes, the clumpy shoes, not to mention the fact she had never even heard of me, or had the faintest idea what we did here? "

"Surely not as far back as that?"

"Maybe. I made Emily run after her, didn't I, and offer her a job she had not even really wanted in reality? She just needed something to pay the rent. She even told me she might as easily have applied to Auto-Universe! But there was something about her even then. Her hair, her eyes, her mouth . . . "

"So it's definitely been a slow burn then. And you've kept it deep. I would never have guessed." He paused, enjoying the moment. "But you know of course you're not the only one in the soup. Andy has been worshipping you for nearly as long. "

"No. Oh for God's sake. Don't be ridiculous! She feared me, then she hated me, and now she kindly tolerates me. She said she would only return until she could find me a new "efficient" assistant. "

"Whatever you think, Miranda. You're never wrong after all, as you've told me on countless occasions. But the truth is Andy has been carrying a torch for you for months. Certainly from the time you first made her cry; when you bawled her out for not finding you a flight through a hurricane. She came to me in tears that day. I put her in thigh length boots and sent her back to do battle. I have been the Cupid to your Venus my dear. She has been quietly in love ever since, so you have only yourself to blame. She obviously thrives on sadism. "

"Watch it, Kipling!"

But Miranda looked a little less defeated, slightly encouraged even.

Nigel pressed on. "So what exactly has happened to then melt your tundra? I saw the body language just now. And you've just confirmed it."

He was keen to hear any details. She obliged, as if telling him some of it at least might ease the pain.

"It really started in Paris. It was all my own fault. I was so conflicted. I have been obsessed with her, but hating myself for it. I took it out on her for weeks, tried to drive her away by showing just how bitchy I could be, how false and pathetic our beloved industry actually is. You know only too well our own debacle over the James Martin/Jacqueline showdown? If I am brutally honest, the wild card in all that game play was my desire to crush what I felt about Andrea. I whirled up the whole blizzard around her, until I could almost have predicted she would jump out of the car, and run for it."

Nigel responded. "But she came back. She found out in the end that you and I had recovered our balance, and made up our differences. She came back to you within a few weeks. The only casualty was her cell phone tossed in the fountain in Paris! Though I have to say, that took some guts."

"The real casualty was my pride and all the rocky foundations of my public image. I never told you but I went round to her office at the Mirror, even after I had written her a snappish reference for the job there.

"I sat on her desk in her grubby little cubby-hole and refused to leave until she came back to me. Nigel, I nearly cried! Can you imagine that? I behaved ridiculously, and now yes, she has come back.

"She lets me believe I am in charge. She lets me take her hand crossing a road, occasionally smooth her hair back; she no longer flinches whenever she looks at me. But I know nothing can come of it.

"I am falling deeper and deeper into it, and there is no hope. I feel physically completely weird. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. It feels like a stomach ulcer"

"Dear Miranda, this feeling you describe as "weird" is the most basic human emotion. I suspect despite all your marriages you may never have fallen before. You're in love!

"Yes, I know it definitely feels like agony at times. God knows I have suffered through it. But it is also life-giving, it gives energy and a fire inside! It can toss aside walls as if they don't exist. It is irrational, inconvenient and sometimes really scary. But it is a thing everyone should go through at least once in their life!"

"But we are both straight, - aren't we? I've never wanted to do with anyone, what I want to do with Andrea. Not to mention, I am probably older than her own mother. I have two daughters I love and who must be my priority. Andrea could have me up for sexual harassment if I take it any further. I am been behaving like a moron, I know, but I just can't cure myself!"

Miranda looked as if she was suffering from acute indigestion. Nigel stared her straight in the eye.

"You forgot what I just said. You don't need to cure yourself or be cured. I would bet $10,000 Andrea loves you back, just as physically, just as totally as you do her. Can't you see it in her eyes? Why do you think you were able to persuade her to return to Runway, to this crazy regime? And it's high time you acknowledged you hidden Gay. I've seen it in you for years. You're a natural diva.

"For fuck's sake Miranda, grow a pair and talk to her about how you feel. Let her fight you off if she wants, but give her the chance. And by the way," he paused. "I don't think there is a boyfriend on the scene anymore. He moved out while she was in Paris. She is now virtually sleeping on the floor in an abandoned apartment she can no longer afford. If you offered to move her in with you she would probably say yes before you finished the sentence"

Miranda looked past him through the heavy glass doors into the outer office. She could see Andrea's head bent over some paperwork. She had wondered why there had been an almost lonely look in her eye recently, a weariness.

"Just think of the prize, if you succeed. Those chestnut curls across your pillow, those lips. "

"Nigel! I warn you! My intentions are pure. Well, no, maybe not, if I'm honest."

"Just ask her out on a date. You don't have to buy the ring just yet.

"I truly just want you to be happy. Both of you. I know this isn't a silly thing, not a foolish whim. I think it could change both your lives immeasurably for the better. Go for it girl."

Miranda straightened her back, shook her head slightly so that her hair fell over her eyes and looking away from him, reached out her beautifully manicured fingers for the proofs.

"Hmm, well, yes, I'll think about it. If you do have any evidence to help me believe that she might possibly reciprocate. . . But don't you dare breathe a word to another soul. I need to work this out for myself. Now then, let's get back to the business in hand."

Nigel grinned, and straightened his tie. "Well, just don't leave it for too long." They turned to the proofs. Miranda's blush faded, and she put her reading glasses back on her nose.

The Universe was still about to tilt, but it had settled for now. He would wait to find out how long the status quo would last, but maybe, in the meantime, it would not do any harm to have a few words with Andrea.

An hour later Andrea was scurrying about within the various departments of Runway, scurrying if not actually scuttling, which was her usual frenzied pace. She had finished a set of memos regarding an upcoming photo-shoot and had put a pile of photos complete with Miranda's red ink post-it note comments in an assistant editor's in-tray. Emily, newly promoted to Assistant Art Director from First Assistant to the Editor, and so Andy's line manager, beckoned her into her new office. This was now a good forty metres away and round several corners from Miranda's normal flight path. Emily was clearly suffering from withdrawal symptoms from the frenzy within the EIC suite, and the magnetic icy glares and sarcastic whispers of its main inhabitant.

"Come over here!" she hissed when she saw Andrea pass her door. "How are you coping on your own? If you needed my advice. . . I would have thought you'd have been bothering me by now. You haven't asked me anything yet! How are the interviews going for a new second assistant? How is . . . ?"

The unspoken name hung in the air between them.

Andrea half-smiled; she sometimes felt she liked and disliked Emily in equal measure, but they were almost family in a way. She recognised she was wearing one of the dresses she had brought home from the Paris catwalks and then given to Emily. It hadn't needed taking in a size, she noted, despite Emily's constant protestations and digs about how fat Andrea was.

"Yes, fine, I am settling back in. Miranda has forgiven me, perhaps, for ducking out in Paris. She doesn't say much. You know she never did, unless it was to tear a strip off one of us." She shifted the emphasis of her reply. "How are you getting on working for Nigel?"

Emily relaxed a little as she revealed she did actually love her new position, and felt physically better now she wasn't in a state of controlled terror for ten hours each day. Her anorexia, the elephant always in the room with her, had settled slightly. "I am warming to this job. It is stuff I can do, and want to do. I can focus. Which is good. But I still don't know why you returned to Runway! ", and then she added after a few seconds, "or why she let you crawl back! "

Andrea chose her reply very carefully. She hardly knew the answer to that mystery herself. "Well, I guess Miranda knew you deserved to be promoted. She knew I understood the office system so I could at least induct a new girl and keep the show on the road. I am sure it's only temporary. I behaved so badly in Paris. I misunderstood so much, and felt stupid afterwards. It was strange of her to forgive me, but I expect it is only temporary."

Emily was mollified. "Well, let's do a drink sometime, shall we? Now that I get home before midnight some nights a week. If she lets you off for an evening of waiting for the book, give me a call."

Andrea was surprised. Emily being nice was like the sun coming out in December.

"Sure, I will."

She looked at the clock and then ruefully ran very quickly back to her office. The phone could never be allowed to ring unanswered, and she had left it for more than ten minutes. Pavlovian responses prevailed.

But by the time she arrived, the inner larger office was vacant. Miranda had gone, seemingly swooping up her own coat and bag and disappearing into the gathering dusk. There was a very short handwritten note on Andrea's desk, scribbled on her own pad, with her pen, which advertised the Ohio state fair. "Where are you? Bring the book by 9. Tell them it needs to be ready by 8. Roy will wait for you. M."

Just the sight of that one initial crystallised Andrea into a shivering piece of melting ice. She was so affected by it, so overwhelmed.

She sat herself at the desk and tried to think, to process. The intensity of her feelings really frightened her. Those ridiculous feelings had for some time. Loving so deeply, so hopelessly. Being so attracted to someone so unreachable, and so inappropriate was like a curse put on her by a wicked godmother.

Somehow since Paris it had worsened into a tighter knot of impossibility. Miranda was being kind these days, even gentle. She could have no idea. That very afternoon, she had actually smoothed Andrea's hair and brushed it away from her eyes.

When she had burst through the doors of the New York Mirror a few weeks previously, she had overwhelmed her completely, literally sitting on her desk so she could no longer write anything on the keyboard. She had told Andrea just how impossibly bad her office administration was without her. She's almost been shaking with fury at the mess Andrea had left her with. Did Andrea want any more inadequate substitutes sacked? Miranda had hardly been able to get the words out, and she'd seemed close to tears of frustration.

So of course Andrea had quietly given in her notice for her dream job as a reporter, and had returned immediately. She was like a flower turning back to the sun. The sun had actually been surprisingly benign since then, which had made all this unrequited love just about bearable.

Andrea's nerves were almost in shreds. Nate had departed from her life, taking his revenge in material terms by moving out half of her possessions as well as all of his. He had even taken their not-quite- marital bed while she was in Paris, so she was sleeping on the lumpy sofa in a sleeping bag. Life sucked on so many levels, but nothing, nothing came close to the misery of loving Miranda without hope of it being returned, or ever being able to be released from it.

She relayed Miranda's message on the desk about the Book to the evening editorial guys, and then rummaged in her desk for a half-eaten chocolate bar, a small contraband consolation in time of trouble. She had hardly eaten all day. "At this rate, I'll end up like Emily," she thought.

Nigel bounced through the door sometime after eight o clock, while she was still hanging on for the Book to be delivered to her so she could do the last job of the day and take it across the city to Miranda's house, in the fancy Upper East District beyond Fifth Avenue.

This was a nightly trek to an address which weighed down on Andy every time she called there. There wasn't a house in the street worth less than $10 million. She wasn't just not in Miranda's league, she wasn't even on the same planet.

Nigel came with a half-formed plan. It had taken him quite a few hours to work out a strategy, for even his agile brain had fumbled about how to achieve the necessary push to make Miranda and Andy collide on the same wavelength and stop all this unhelpful misery. He could see they were so close, but that both imagined the gulf between them was unbridgeable.

So Nigel, their colleague, their mutual friend, Nigel the campy, humorous Art Director, the closet gay with the kind heart and huge Closet, only he could sort things out. He just needed a little lever.

"Hey Six! " He used his old nickname for her as he entered her office, wrapped up in his winter overcoat, wearing his hat ready to face the icy streets. "How are you getting on? Found a new room-mate for the apartment yet?"

Andrea threw her candy wrapper in the waste-bin and shook her head. "No, and I know I can't afford the rent on my own, but it's such a crappy apartment, no one will be interested. I only have one bedroom, and not even one bed." I will be homeless by next month, when I have to give up my lease. Maybe then you'll find me camping out on a pile of coats in the Closet here!"

"No need for that. You could stay with me, or hey, why not with Miranda? She has four floors and about six bedrooms."

Andrea snorted. "Oh sure! I can imagine how that would go down. "Hi Miranda, here I am with my sleeping bag. You don't mind me just chilling out in your guest room for a few weeks do you?" No, when these next weeks are over, I will be heading back to oblivion in the mid-west."

"Nursing your broken heart?"

"What? No, Nate and I split up, but he did not break my heart, just made off with my furniture."

"I'm not talking about Nate. I know where your heart lies. In the care of someone beginning with M, maybe?"

Andrea jumped, and looked round nervously as if to check if anyone else could have heard. The building was mercifully nearly empty, and the surrounding offices were deserted.

"How do you know that, really? Is it so obvious? I am so shafted. I should never have returned. I must leave. It is too mortifying. Supposing she finds out." Andy's sentences came out spaced between large sighs. Nigel was enjoying watching her dramatic monologue.

"Andy, I know you left her in Paris partly out of loyalty to me, and I appreciate it, but don't even think of leaving again. Miranda would not function at all well without you, and then we'd really suffer. You may not believe me, but I know she would offer you a room if you were to ask. She does care about you, more than you realise."

Andrea looked doubtful. "But even if what you say is true, which I can't see at all, the way she cares would not be in that way, the only way I want. She is straight as a canal. She would scream at me if I tried anything physical, either that, or laugh me into the Hudson. I know there is no hope. Being in the same street, let alone the same house would make it a thousand times worse."

"Andy, If Miranda offers you a place to stay, will you promise me you'll take it. I think you will be surprised by her willingness to do that. In fact I am going to call her this evening and ask her. I have already mentioned your accommodation problems."

Andrea looked at him in complete stupefaction. His take on her hopeless crush and Miranda's likely response to any request to put her up was so different from her reality, she could think of nothing to say in response. Her mouth simply opened, and shut again. She felt like a fish trapped in a deep bowl.

"Well then, go get out your scarf and mittens, and prepare to leave this place for the night. I can hear Marcus coming up with the Book as we speak. Call Roy the driver to get round to the front, and let's all make it out of here before midnight."

A little later, Andrea sat in the back of the company town car and clutched the editorial Book of Runway's next issue. It would take thirty minutes up to Miranda's home address, and then another forty minutes home by subway and traffic-choked streets to her shabby apartment across town. Her hands and feet were already frozen. Her bones ached and her eyes were tired from nights which were generally too short and too broken by long hours of pining, inter-spiked by unhappy dreams.

Tonight she felt old for her years, cold and unloved. If this was what romantic infatuation did for you, you could keep it. The very idea of Miranda offering to take her in was one of Nigel's more fatuous fantasies. She really, really hoped he had not been so foolish as to actually call Miranda and ask her. In fact it was so crazy, she put it out of her mind, and by the time Roy pulled up to the Editor's house, her subconscious brain had allowed her to forget it.

She went up the flight of steps, in her high heels which hurt her feet with every step, and put the key in the lock. As usual she carried the Book, and also a couple of hangers full of dry-cleaning. The front door then swung inwards and she went out of the cold, into the warmth of Miranda's front hall.

4138 words


	2. Chapter 2

The Touch

Chapter 2.

In the four hours since she had left the Runway offices, Miranda had thought harder and more introspectively about her situation than she ever remembered doing before. The fact that Nigel had seen, that he now knew her secret, that he understood, even a little, about the uncomfortable truth of where her heart lay, this had somehow opened a door in her imagination. For the first time, it was a door she could see herself possibly passing through.

Miranda wasn't a spoiled woman. She had risen to success by keeping everything tucked in with a frighteningly high standard of self- control and discipline, imposed on herself as well as all her staff. Her only indulgences, which had been given to her as an unexpected surprise in her late thirties, a gift of talent, beauty and fun, were her twins, not one but two bundles of merry mischief.

She knew she failed to sufficiently discipline or be objective about them. She loved them extravagantly, so she at least know she _could_ love. She was capable of it. She just hadn't practised much with anyone else.

The love of adults, the joy of physically expressing that love through sex, this was love she had never experienced to any degree. Sex with her husbands had been a chore, usually endured with eyes shut and her mind on other things. She came to the sad conclusion that she simply did not find the male body physically attractive.

For someone whom loved beauty, who adored bright colours and delicate fabrics slipping between her fingers, she had singularly missed out on the sensual pleasures of touch, feel, taste and scent. Why hadn't she realised before now, that she was far more likely to discover those pleasures with a woman partner? Was this why her inconvenient crush on Andrea had been such a shock, so unexpected?

As Miranda travelled home alone in the back of the town car, and let herself into her great empty house, she felt like a half starved bear finding a honey pot and wanting to plunge right into it. Andrea's physical beauty, so warm, so curvy and feminine, absolutely delighted her. Her dazzling smile, her good manners, the general kindness of her attitude towards others which had silently rebuked Miranda on many occasions, held her heart captive.

Where Miranda was brusque, Andy was charming, to doormen, security guards, waiters, people who passed her in the street. When Miranda often made people hope never to see her again, Andy created new friendships wherever she went. She was born under a happy star.

Miranda put away her coat in the hall closet, and picked up the mail left on the table by her housekeeper. The twins were away for the weekend, having been picked up directly from their school by their father's secretary, and whisked up to Connecticut until Sunday evening.

This was the last weekend before Christmas when they would be away for two days and nights. It was an opportunity to sort out the emotional mess inside her head. It was also a chance maybe to be honest with Andrea and survive whatever fallout occurred.

As she dumped most of the mail in the paper garbage bucket in the kitchen (No one wrote her personal letters), her cell phone rang. She swiped it open as she pulled a bottle of Bordeaux from the cupboard and poured herself a large balloon glass full.

It was Nigel on the line, as she saw from the name display.

"Yes? Calling to rub salt in wounds, are we?"

He sensibly ignored her.

"Listen, I have been talking to Andy."

"Her name is Andrea. "

"Whatever. Miranda, she truly loves you! She told me. She thinks it is hopeless. That is what making her so droopy. She is beating herself up all the time about it. She is wallowing in guilt and shame because she thinks she's unworthy, ironic isn't it?

"Hmm." Miranda knew what he meant but wasn't going to encourage him.

"But practically, she's also in a real fix. She won't have anywhere to live when her lease runs out by next month. You have a great big empty house. Offer her the top floor in return for some childcare. She'll probably not accept charity, but you can turn it into a quid pro quo arrangement.

"You can tell her it would make good sense to have another adult sleeping in the house, for those nights when you are out on the town to all hours, or making us work until 2 am. You can send her home at a sensible time. She's a natural with the girls and the Nanny can have some time off as well. . . "

Miranda was silent in the face of all this information. The possibilities were too positive to take in at once. Nigel persevered.

"It is a perfect way forward. You can extricate her eventually from Runway, stop being the boss from hell, but let her get to know you more as a woman. Help her uncurl into your love. Bring her into your little family . . ."

The silence stretched further, then,

"Thanks Nigel. Thanks for the idea. I could maybe try. I must at least sort out the housing problem for her."

"And while you are doing that, try to remember. I swear you are both in love with each other! All you need is the courage to let her know. You need to make the move. You hold the power here. The ball's in your court."

Miranda gulped her wine down.

"I know. I'm getting there. You're right. . . . Anyway, thanks for calling."

Nigel was relieved. She had actually taken in some of what he had said. And she's thanked him. Once in a blue moon maybe, but a start.

"I've just sent her off with the Book. She'll be with you shortly. "

They both hung up, and Miranda looked at the food left on the counter for her evening meal. It was easily enough for two people. She'd wait for Andrea. When she delivered the Book she'd make her stay and eat with her, make her open up. At least they could start with the accommodation problems. She had the confidence that she could do some good there.

The other side of things though, the wicked possibilities of being able to show her love to Andrea, to kiss her, draw her upstairs, slowly strip off her clothes and explore her body, to bring her to orgasm in the warmth of the bed in her room, to sleep with her curled up against her breast, that was another matter altogether. It excited her so much she was too frightened to think about it. She felt like a schoolgirl.

But oh, supposing Nigel was right and Andrea did feel much the same? It would be a dream come true. Miranda poured herself a second glass of wine, and went upstairs to shower and change out of her working clothes and glamorously painful footwear.

When the doorbell rang, she heard the key turn in the lock at precisely nine o'clock. Miranda had turned all the downstairs lights to a warm glow and adjusted the heating up so the house was comfortably relaxing.

Supper was laid for two at the kitchen table, and a second bottle of wine, this time Sauvignon Blanc, was uncorked and chilling in the fridge. Music was quietly playing in the background, instrumental jazz suitable for late evening. The ambience was set for entertaining.

Andy pushed her way through the door, juggling Book, dry-cleaning and her own large messenger bag as usual. Months of doing this on a nightly basis should have taught her to be graceful under stress, but it was always the same clumsy entrance. She felt grateful that Miranda never normally was present to see the fumbling and panting which went on simply to deliver the items through the door.

But this evening she was standing there, waiting just behind the door in the hall. Her blue eyes were almost navy blue as they reflected the V necked, cashmere sweater she now wore. It gripped her body and emphasised her breasts. Her neck was bare. She had also changed into navy pants and flat pumps which left her a full five inches shorter than Andy who wobbled in her heels, and so looked a little less formidable than she normally did.

But Andy still couldn't look her full in the face. She was frightened of showing how besotted she was. Miranda looked just so beautiful, it hurt to gaze on her. It was like dropping in on a goddess.

However, the warmth, the lamplight, the smell of some delicious pasta dish coming from the kitchen drew her forwards. Miranda reached out across her and quietly lifted the clothes from her left hand, hung them in the closet herself, and then took the Book and placed it on the table behind. She did not glance at it, but held Andy's hands between her own and rubbed her icy fingers.

"You're frozen. Come in and warm your hands "

"Uh, thanks, but. . "

"I have supper here. I waited for you. I was going to invite you to eat with me anyway, but you were off somewhere when I left the office." Miranda spoke briskly and quietly as usual. Andrea decided to rise to the occasion and actually say some words in coherent English.

"Sorry, Miranda. Yes, I was delivering files, and then dropped by to have a word or two with Emily. She is enjoying the work as assistant Art Director."

As she spoke, she realised that Miranda was unwinding her scarf and helping, actually helping her off with her winter coat.

"Emily deserved the promotion. I should have organised it before. But it leaves you with far too much work to do. We must call in HR to send a temp if they can't send us up someone on a permanent basis."

"Yes, I'll chase them up on Monday. Sorry."

"Never mind about that now. Come with me. Will you have some wine? "

They were now in Miranda's kitchen. The drapes were shut and it had a cheerful Scandinavian feel to it. A comfortable leather sofa lay to one side, and Andy found herself somehow sitting on it, next to Miranda, with a glass of white wine in one hand and a smile of astonished relief brightening her face. It was so normal, so homely, and very different from the cheerless austerity of her studio apartment.

Miranda focussed on her so intently she felt forced to raise her eyes to gaze back.

"Now what's this Nigel tells me about you living in virtual squalor without a bed, in a cold apartment in quite the wrong end of town? Why didn't you tell me before?"

Andrea looked down at her glass. She fought back the tears. "I'm sorry. I didn't think I should bother you with personal problems. We are not supposed to bring our home life into our work. . "

"Who told you that? Where did you get that idea?" Miranda knew she was quite irrational as she had frequently cut people off in mid-sentence if they mentioned any personal problems in her presence. Her repentance now was genuine though. She couldn't bear to think of Andrea struggling alone, anxious and uncomfortable with money problems.

She made Andrea tell her the whole story of Nate leaving, of the trouble finding a way to meet the rent, of the pitiful amount of furniture he had left, of the gas boiler failing, the shower dripping. This was coaxed out of her, bit by bit, by replenishing the wine glass more than once and then drawing her up to the table to share the steaming bowl of shrimp tagliatelli and garden peas placed before them. The absence of the boyfriend, and Andy's seeming recovery from the event filled her with hope.

As Andy ate and drank, her body began to relax and thaw out. Her feet slipped out of her shoes and she felt the warmth build up from her toes. Miranda, who was already on her second bottle of wine, felt slightly tipsy. She was on a mission to help and it made her happy. Her natural bossiness drove her on with some confidence.

"Well, the solution is obvious. Move in here."

Andrea's memory of Nigel's advice kept her from passing out with shock, but her eyes still went as wide as saucers, and her mouth opened without any sound emerging.

"Or would you prefer the Waldorf-Astoria?"

Miranda's little joke made Andy come to her senses, and she smiled. "No, I'd prefer here, thank-you. But how would it work? I couldn't afford to pay you much rent. And I'd be in your way. The girls would hate it."

"The girls would love it. They seemingly prefer you to me most of the time anyway. We have a whole top floor unoccupied at present. Three rooms and a bathroom. Just don't play music too loud after midnight. And as to rent," Here Miranda repeated Nigel's formula. "That would easily be covered by the knowledge that I have another responsible adult in the house who could look after two naughty ten year olds if I have to be elsewhere or come home late."

Miranda leaned across the table and grasped Andy's forearm as she was lifting her last forkful of pasta. "Say yes! Please say yes, Andrea. Be sensible."

It was the word _Please_ which did it. Andrea knew she was going to give in. Torture or not, living with Miranda was so close to the gates of Heaven that how could she possibly refuse? She just looked into those blue eyes and nodded her head up and down like a puppet.

"Yes. . . but . . "

"No Buts! Finish your supper. Stay here tonight and tomorrow we'll fetch your belongings."

"But I don't want to be a nuisance. Maybe then, but just until I find another place of my own."

"Stop that at once. I'm not putting up with you trying to move out before you've hardly moved in. If after three months you decide you can't stand my presence any longer, then I'll buy you another apartment in Brooklyn! But for now, no more on the subject."

Andrea knew Miranda well enough to know when to reply, or when simply to be silent. She dared to put her own hand over Miranda's and lowered them both to the table. Her eyes shone.

"Well then. Just thank you, very, very much. I'm really grateful. I hope I don't disappoint you." She knew she was using one of Miranda's most frequent catchphrases.

Miranda smiled, a lovely genuine, open smile. "You could never do that ever again Andrea, I won't let you." she whispered. "Now come and see the accommodation on offer."

Climbing the stairs in stockinged feet, Andy went behind Miranda until the top floor, when Miranda slipped her hand in her arm pulled her towards the door facing them. It opened into a high ceilinged room which overlooked the Manhattan roof tops and the swirling lights shows from many advertising hoardings and digital displays twinkling away in the middle distance. Miranda went forward and promptly closed the drapes across the two casement windows.

"I'm sorry it's a little chilly up here. I'll turn the heating on of course."

Andrea looked at the high piled queen-size bed, festooned with cushions and covered by a top of the range comforter. The en-suite bathroom beyond looked twice the size of her pokey shower room. Fitted wardrobes and bookcases covered the other walls, and an original oil painting of a misty landscape took the eye into a dreamy other world.

"There are two more available rooms on this floor as well, if you wanted a separate office or sitting area. The girls and I sleep below on the second floor. I hope you'll eat with us in the kitchen or dining room."

Andrea turned to Miranda. She couldn't hold herself back. The pull was like a magnet.

"Thank you, Miranda. It's a dream. Thanks so much. How can I ever repay you?"

"No, this is a small way for me to repay you for all the times you've gone the extra mile for me. Of course, we won't ever mention Paris again . . . "

Andrea grimaced. "I won't. But you are fully entitled to keep rubbing that episode in as often as you want. I still feel so ashamed."

She stood by the bed, and then couldn't resist bouncing down on it to feel the softness of the mattress.

"Divine," she murmured. "I've been sleeping on a lumpy couch which was too short for me since I came back from you know where. "

"Well make yourself at home. It is well past ten o clock and I don't want you walking the New York streets this time of night. I will find you something to sleep in."

Andrea smiled as she thought of the many nights she had indeed trudged those same streets alone, and taken the subway in the small hours before now. But if Miranda wanted to be kind, she certainly did not want to discourage her.

They stared at each other intently. Miranda opened a cupboard drawer and pulled out a set of satin pyjamas and a matching gown. "Here you are. These should fit. And all the toiletries you'll need are in the bathroom."

Miranda wanted to say so much more, to spin the moon, but her courage failed. She'd achieved so many things already that night. She needed to secure Andrea as a resident in the house before she tried talking about anything else more personal.

"I have to spend an hour or two at least on the book tonight, but as it is Saturday tomorrow, the day can begin later. I want you to take me to your apartment and show me how much furniture or clothes you need to bring. Shall we say breakfast at eight?"

Andrea was still sitting on the bed. "I must fetch my bag, phone, laptop, from downstairs. I've already got your WiFi password from the times I've worked here, but will the internet reach up to this floor?

"Certainly, but if it doesn't we can put in a booster box on the stairs. "

They went down together to the ground floor, their feet padding on the warm pile carpet of the upper staircase. Andrea gathered up her bag and shoes and then realised their supper dishes were all still on the table.

She went to clear them away, but Miranda physically blocked her. "You are not the maid, Andrea. Stop that now. You get to bed and have a good night's sleep. I will take care of everything. "

Andrea reached up and gave Miranda a gentle hug. It was the first time she had initiated any physical contact between them, and she knew it was significant. Miranda felt real, physically in three dimensions at least, so it maybe wasn't all a dream.

"OK then, "she whispered, waiting for what would happen next, though what exactly eluded her.

Miranda cupped her face and pulled her in until they were close enough to feel each other's chests rise and fall. She smoothed Andrea's hair back, as she had that afternoon, and kissed her gently but firmly on the cheek.

Andrea's eyes closed. Then she swept up her possessions and ran away up the stairs. Miranda had kissed her! The truth of it stunned her, and she would need all night to process how she felt and how she could respond.

Miranda quietly stacked the dishwasher, wiped down the counter and turned off the music system and kitchen lights. They were small acts of domesticity which grounded her and helped her process what had happened from her perspective. She felt more than a little drunk from the red and white wine she'd consumed, but her head and her heart felt aligned.

She could feel her emotional path was now much clearer. She would follow her heart and pray it would lead her to Andrea's, in the best way for them both and as soon as the time was right.

3390 words


	3. Chapter 3

The Touch.

Chapter Three.

In its 140 year history Miranda's town house in Upper East New York had seen many people sleep within its walls. However, none enjoyed their rest more than Andy Sacks on the night she realised she could woo and maybe even win Miranda Priestly's heart.

From lonely misery and frustration, the evening had tipped her into an exuberant happiness. It was helped by the contrast between the cold street below and the warm home within, between the bitchy sarcasm of Miranda before and her almost warmth and open kindness now.

Andrew lay in her new bed, in her borrowed pyjamas and felt like little orphan Annie adopted by a millionaire. But she was no child, she wasn't even naïve about Miranda's character ever likely to change. She loved her as she was, very moody, vain and bossy, and sometimes spiteful just for the fun of seeing others squirm.

She found Miranda's anger thrilling, and her sense of humour, (which many missed altogether) quite hilarious. Miranda's wit was so dry at times, it could have blown straight out of the Gobi desert.

But last night had taught Andy that Miranda truly did want her close, she needed her to live with her. She was lonely and unfulfilled, and all that beauty, of hair, eyes, the way she moved like a swan through a crowd of ducks, her ability to express huge magnetism in any gathering, all that had never been harvested by a true lover, had never been received in the way it deserved.

Andy was young still, but she had an old soul, and she saw her way into Miranda's heart. It would mean her life would be not as she had expected, it would alter dramatically. She had no idea if all that lay ahead would be all good or heartbreaking, but she knew it was inevitable. There was no way she could retreat.

Thinking these thoughts, snuggling into the silky cotton sheets and indulging with the warmth of the electric blanket which had instantly aired the bed, Andy fell into a sleep that was deep and restorative. No dreams broke the surface, and she woke at seven the next morning feeling fully rested.

The house seemed quiet, so she took her time showering and washing her hair. It was as usual determined not to be straightened, but she managed to control it after finding a high-speed hair dryer and some clips. She pulled it back from her face, apart from the bangs which bounced over her forehead.

She was still in her office work clothes, but if Miranda kept to her crazy idea of them both going round to Andy's apartment, then she would change into Saturday casuals there. She went down the stairs at the usual "fifteen minutes early" which was Miranda's normal set time for every appointment, and was encouraged by the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen. When she entered she saw Miranda sitting at the counter, reading the New York Times and holding a large mug of the brown stuff.

She looked adorable, scary but adorable.

"There you are, "she said unnecessarily, giving Andy a long stare that might almost be a smile. "Come and help yourself."

A plate of warm cinnamon bagels had been placed on the counter, next to a large jug of orange juice. Andy took a bagel, and filled a glass of juice. Had Miranda left early on a bagel run, or simply defrosted them? She joined Miranda at the counter, and picked up the sports and leisure sections of the NYT. The Saturday edition always had copious amounts of extra reading.

"I could probably get you a job on the Times, if you wanted, "said Miranda, watching her flick through the pages.

Andrea raised her eyebrow. " Hmm. But I've just walked out of a perfectly good job on the Mirror. I can't see how that would look good on my resume' if I want to apply to the Times."

"But the Mirror is a rag. I knew you weren't happy there. I could tell you would be better back with us." Miranda's brisk reply sounded as confident as ever, brooking no argument.

Andrea decided to change the subject. She put her courage into gear. "You look lovely this morning Miranda, "

"As opposed to last night you mean?" Miranda broke in. Honestly she never gave anyone a chance to pay a simple compliment.

"No, you looked so beautiful then as well, but this morning the paler blue makes your eyes look like sapphires."

It was corny, but it worked. Miranda's big blue eyes immediately dropped in embarrassment and her cheek turned pink. Andy kept speaking.

"Would you still like to come to the apartment with me? I'm sure you have heaps of better things to do. "

"Nothing that can't wait. Of course I am coming. I said I would. I always do what I say. "

"Not someone who _ever_ changes her mind,?" Andy was in a teasing mood.

"Not on essentials."

End of discussion.

They were on the road very soon. Miranda took Andy down to an underground garage she had not previously even noticed, and buzzed the key for a Lexus saloon parked next to a nippy Porsche sports car.

"We'll take the larger car, in case you need to bring anything."

Andrea nodded dumbly, trying to think what state her apartment was in, whether she's washed up or even made up her makeshift bed on the couch. This could be a mortifying experience.

She directed Miranda further and further away from the affluent areas of Manhattan, down a series of streets full of fast food greasy spoons and surly looking boys gathered in groups on the corners. Seeing the neighbourhood through Miranda's eyes, it didn't look good. She hadn't even taken her father home when he had visited, meeting him in town for a meal.

"Come on then," said Miranda as Andy directed her into a parking bay, only a hundred yards from her building.

They walked together down the street and round the corner. "Has Nigel ever been here?" Miranda asked, as she jumped out of the way of a garbage bin left in the centre of the sidewalk.

"Hmm, yes, once. He gave me a lift home one night. And came again to collect clothes from the Closet which he'd lent me."

"And what did he say about your . . . address. "

"That I should change it as soon as possible. And I have tried to. You know I have. "

Miranda followed Andy upstairs to the fourth floor. They stopped at the end door of a shabby passageway, and Andy turned the keys on two locks. Inside, the main room was certainly cold, but it was bright and sunny, with the walls decorated with art prints, and a poster for a North Western Varsity basketball match.

The inadequacies of Andrea's sleeping arrangements were laid out for inspection. Her old girl-scout sleeping bag, was rolled up under a very worn sofa, but she was pleased to see she had at least remembered to wash and clear away her breakfast things from the day before.

Miranda walked in and owned the room at once.

"It does have a certain minimalist charm, what one might call "Reduced circumstances". She seemed amused.

Andy remembered an old Chinese proverb. "Now that my barn has burned down, I have a better view of the rising moon." She said this to Miranda, exulting in the silvery moon goddess before her, visiting her little flat on a Saturday morning.

Miranda reached over and grabbed Andy's messenger bag. "Come on, you with the ubiquitous notebook and pen, get it out and write a list of everything you want to keep and another for what can go to the Goodwill or in a dumpster."

"Yes, Miranda," replied Andy sweetly, and they set to work.

The project did not take long. Andy wanted her books, her files of printed articles and collected editions of her college newspaper. She wanted her pictures, her little glass donkey from Mexico, and her Hopi sand paintings.

The precious things accumulated since she had moved to the City fitted into a shoebox. Everything of value, including all the cooking equipment was noticeable by its absence. Nate had done a good job in stripping out their assets.

The sparsity of the apartment reassured Miranda in knowing she was doing the right thing in evacuating Andrea. She was also not aware of the ex-boyfriend's influence, which again was a comfort. There was no male detritus anywhere, no toiletries, sports equipment, books, no souvenirs to show Andrea still pined for him.

Miranda marched into the empty bedroom space, and opened the wardrobe. She was genuinely amazed at how few clothes and shoes Andy had. They would fit into two suitcases at most. Nate had not touched Andy's Runway clothes, but she had already returned most of them, giving them to Nigel to return to the Closet when she had left the first time. Her current wardrobe really was minimalistic.

Miranda' eyebrows, which had shot up behind her curling forelock, said it all. Andy's mind flashed back to their first meeting, when Miranda had said she obviously had no interest in fashion. She felt embarrassed, but Miranda secretly also shared a similar emotion, as she thought of her own shoe collection which could rival Imelda Marcos's, her dozens of $1000 tops and skirts. Well dozens was a euphemism if she was honest. More like hundreds.

She noticed Andy's suitcase on top of the wardrobe. "Fill that," she said, "with what you need for now. We can send packers for the rest. Give me the landlord's name and I'll deal with him. You should be compensated for the appalling state of things here, not have to pay another penny in rent."

Andy heaved a sigh of relief. She was so used to being the "Gofer", having to do all the negotiating to make sure Miranda's life ran smoothly, it was wonderful to have the roles reversed for once.

Within another hour they were packed and gone. Miranda went to collect her car and Andy met her outside the block of apartments with one large suitcase, one medium sized, and two cardboard boxes of printed papers and assorted smaller items.

Miranda looked quite jaunty as she opened the trunk and Andy's belongings were stowed away.

"You can have a fresh start now," she smiled. "I am going to take you away from all of this ugliness and grime."

"But it is real life. It is how most people live."

"Believe me, I know that. I have experienced worse. But now, I think we'll go to lunch. I need us to have a serious conversation."

"Oh dear, "Andy watched the streets flash by. "That sounds scary."

Miranda's profile next to her tightened slightly, but when she turned to her right and smiled at Andy her expression was anything but scary. She looked almost radiant, as if she knew a happy secret.

"We'll drop off the car at home, and then I know a place close to the Park I think you'll like. We can take a walk afterwards, where we used to take Patricia."

The great St Bernard had died only a month earlier and had left a long shadow. Apart from the twins, she was the main recipient of Miranda's physical affection. Andy knew what a big chasm her death had caused in the Priestly home.

But she still didn't understand why Miranda was behaving like this. It was utterly gorgeous, but yes, scary. Miranda the dragon lady, the ice-Queen, seemed to have disappeared to be replaced with a fairy godmother alter-ego, whose sole purpose this crisp fall day seemed to be about making Andy happy.

They ate chicken salads and vegetable soup in a small bistro close to Central Park, and then defied the chilly North-East wind by taking a circuit round part of the wooded area not far from the town house. People with children and dogs were walking around them, but no-body paid them any attention. Miranda headed for a sheltered seat in a sunny spot and pulled Andy down beside her.

"Andrea, "she began, and then paused.

Andy reached across and gently took her hand. Miranda wore soft leather gloves, and the feel of them was so sensual. If Miranda was going to have this "serious" conversation, then Andy could not help herself join in through touch and smell. Miranda's perfume was as powerful and beguiling as ever.

"Hmm?" Andrea tried to be encouraging, but could not find any vocabulary at all.

"I don't know how to go about this. For once I am stumped. You know me, always there with a caustic phrase for any occasion. Well not now. But there are some things I must say, something which happened yesterday in the office, which has made me realise I can't go on with this . . . "

"What?!" Andy was horror-struck. "No, don't say that. Miranda, don't!"

"Let me finish, please. I can't go on with pretending I don't . . I don't adore you. I have thought about you from the moment you entered my life. I was devastated when you left me in Paris, even though I did my best to drive you out, and that taught me how much I care about you. I can't help it. I would do anything for you. I could drown in your beautiful eyes. I can't bear the thought of life without you. I know I am being ridiculous, but I'm in love, Andrea.. . . That's all. "

Andy stared into her eyes, just stared for five or six long seconds, as her mind caught up with what she had heard, and then her mouth started to form some sort of response.

In the end, all she could whisper was, "Oh, Miranda. Oh Miranda." But her grip on the gloved hands tightened so much she realised she might be hurting them. She reached up and touched Miranda's silver hair.

Miranda's eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"I know I am just a stupid, silly old woman . . . "

"No." Andy finally found her voice and it was strong and firm. "None of that. Never say that. You are my goddess. I worship you. I love you. Truly. With all my heart."

"There doesn't need to be any funny business . . . . I'm not going to molest you . . . "

Andy looked seriously disappointed.

"But why not? I sure hope you'll get over that idea pretty soon. Because if you don't, I'll be the one doing the molesting. Miranda, I have had the worst crush on you, yes since the day you first tore into me and my big ideas about fashion being unimportant.

"I fantasise every night about making love to you. There truly isn't a wicked physical thing I haven't imagined doing to you. Everything has been about you. Breaking up with Nate, getting tired and emotional in the place we won't mention, you know where. Leaving, coming back . . . You are the centre of my world.

"I don't think I could live in your house and think of you downstairs without wanting to be in your bed. I know the twins . . . I know it will be difficult, but . . . ."

They were alone in their little corner. No-one was close by to watch, but Miranda was past caring anyway. She put both hands up to cradle Andy's face and drew her in for a full, open mouthed kiss, which lasted until she had explored every aspect of Andrea's lovely mouth, teeth and tongue. She finished by a little nip to her bottom lip, which sent Andy's nerves vibrating down to her core.

They both came up for air, and clung to each other for mutual support.

"Funny business OK then?" Miranda breathed.

"Definitely. In fact it will be obligatory."

"Miss Sachs, you maybe are in the right profession after all. Your vocabulary is definitely expanding."

Andrea decided they had said enough. Mouths were better employed in other ways.

"Can we go home now?" she whispered. "I want to unpack my belongings, and unpack you as well. I want to show you just how good I can be in that respect."

"I believe you, darling," said Miranda. "I think you definitely have quite the touch."

And they walked across the park, round the corner and up the street, and up the stairs in the townhouse, to the new world awaiting.


	4. Chapter 4

The Touch

Chapter 4

As soon as the town house front door closed behind them, Miranda turned to Andrea with eyes filled with an intoxicating mixture of both longing and fear. The two emotions flickered from one to another almost instantaneously. Andrea recognised love's version of fight or flight, and braced herself in front of Miranda like a buttress, holding her upper arms and pushing her gently against the closet door.

"Andrea, "was all Miranda could say. It was almost too much for her brain to comprehend, that the years of watching, of needing, of fighting against her feelings so hard, were now simply over, that the gift of Andrea was hers to take. She shivered with pure emotion, but yet part of her mind clung to the fear of inevitable loss, of ultimate desolation. Could this be for real? Could life in the end be just this easy? She had always found it impossible to receive gifts gracefully, some residue of childhood disappointment, of early hopes repeatedly dashed.

"Miranda," Andrea breathed her name, as she had before in the park. "It's fine. It's real. I do love you so much. Can we go upstairs please? I don't think I can hold out much longer before I explode . . ."

Miranda reached up to free herself from Andrea's steadying grip and placed her hands over Andrea's shoulders. She pulled her in towards her and hugged her tightly so that their bodies were fused from knee to neck. She stopped Andrea talking simply by covering her mouth with a kiss and the necessary silence stretched for several long seconds. By the end she could feel her heart rate steadying, and her adrenalin returning to a functioning level. She breathed in and found her voice.

"Certainly. Upstairs. Now"

She reached out and bolted the door, then still holding Andrea close against her, propelled them both up the stairs. On the second floor, she turned right through the door and Andrea found herself in what she realised must be Miranda's bedroom. There was no time for sight- seeing however.

Miranda pushed Andrea into the centre of the bed and leaned over her.

"Oh," she gasped, "little love."

"Not so little. I'm taller than you!"

"Irrelevant, darling. I just need to say, I just . . . "

"What?"

Andrea was lying beneath her on the bed, and already trying to undo buttons and push back her jacket lapels.

Miranda almost whispered. "I know you joked about molesting me, about doing things to me, but today, for now, I need to just show you how very much I love _you_. I need to take the lead. I need to be in control, to make love to every inch of you, in my own time."

"You need to top me?"

Miranda's mouth curled.

"Not an expression I would choose to use. But I need to show us both how I can love you completely. I want to make up for all my past bullying, for acting so cruelly to you, for so long. It is your pleasure which concerns me here."

Andrea realised how sincere Miranda's words were. Atonement, healing, whatever Miranda needed, she was happy to provide, and if Miranda wanted to do the work, the delicious, wonderful work of giving her sexual enchantment, then she saw nothing to complain about.

She suspected though, that Miranda doubted her own ability to achieve orgasm and this might be half the reason she wanted to take control of their lovemaking. But roles could be reversed once Miranda relaxed. She had a few tricks of her own which she might use on her beautiful lover.

So Andrea gave Miranda one of her most beguiling, happiest smiles.

"Well, then. Do your worst, Oh great mistress. I am yours."

Miranda began a slow choreographed scene setting and removal of garments. She first went to the high windows and drew the drapes together, insulating them from the fading autumnal light. She then lit the lamp by the bed, which shed a warm glow and illuminated their bodies in a gentle shadowy light.

Then she began to disrobe, not so much a strip-tease, as a methodical undressing. The sexual tension between them was obvious, but she held everything under control. First she slipped off her gloves, then her wristwatch, rings and earrings, placing them on a dish by the bed. She bent down and removed her shoes, and then did the same for Andrea. She pulled off her outer coat and stripped off her skirt and top until she wore only a silk slip and lacy bra and underwear, thigh high stockings and a set of six gold chains round her neck.

All the time she held Andrea's eyes focused on hers, in a semi hypnotic intense gaze. She sat on the bed and removed her stockings, enjoying Andy's eyes as they followed her moving hands. Finally she raised her arms and removed her necklace. Her neck and shoulders gleamed in the lamplight, and her hair flared out into a silver halo with an energy all of its own.

When Andrea tried to help, she shook her head and held her down with outstretched fingers. Andrea's chest began to rise and fall with excitement as her breathing grew heavier. Miranda then very gently began removing Andrea's jacket, shirt and slacks, taking it so, so slowly.

The silence seemed impenetrable, but then she began to speak, slowly and quietly as she normally did.

"You know, I have spent all my adult life creating, selecting, adapting, critiquing garments. It's always been about the cover of the book, the look, the façade. Nothing wrong in that. But oh, it has left me so hungry, so famished for substance, for internal food. I sometimes have felt like my own insides have been eaten away, that I have lost my soul. But now I have found you, a little ragamuffin, whose whole being is fed from your centre, who treats external appearances as inconsequential. We complement each other, perfectly"

As she spoke she continued undressing Andrea. She reached behind her back and unclipped her bra and pulled it away from her shoulders, carefully lifting her hair so it would not catch. Andrea lay on the bed now, naked apart from her panties. She felt warm with embarrassment, but she knew she had a sexually attractive body. She had sufficient physical self-confidence not to blush too deeply.

Miranda gazed at her breasts. Andrea could only think. "Miranda is here, looking at my breasts. She sees me as an object of desire. She wants to have sex with me. I must have died and gone to heaven." Andrea rose up onto her elbows to entice Miranda in and ached for her to touch her nipples. They were aroused into flushed pink peaks above perfectly rounded breasts.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she groaned. "Miranda, enough talking. Please get on with some ravishing, _please_."

Miranda chuckled, but she was still in a thoughtful mood. Now Andrea lay naked before her, pleading with her to love her, she had to give herself a little shake to realign her pounding heart and head, focus her eyes so they didn't let embarrassing tears slip down, and mentally prepare herself to leap off the diving board.

Andrea sensed her mood was deep, almost too introspective, self-doubting, and still too hesitant for someone who claimed she wanted to drive all the action.

"Miranda, stop thinking! Let's just enjoy this, together. We're here, alone. I feel so excited, I'm wild about you, I love you. I want you. Let's just have fun. Sex should be fun . . . Ow!"

Miranda had decided to jump into the swimming pool. She leaped onto Andrea, taking her by surprise, and started to tickle her until the girl screamed with laughter.

"Oh, no, please, I am so ticklish. Help."

"Then be quiet. Sshh or I shall torture you until you beg for mercy. No . . more . . .words from either of us, OK?"

Her order was punctuated with kisses down Andrea's neck.

"Hmm."

The kisses continued down to the breasts, and then she licked slowly round one aureole, then the other, kissing and nipping as she went.

Andrea skimmed her fingers over Mirada's silky slip and tugged at the ribbons. She didn't want to damage it, but she wanted it gone. The battle to feel Miranda's smooth back intensified, but she managed to undo her bra at last, and flickered her fingers across her neck and upper back, grasping her hair and rising to meet her dangerous mouth as it sucked and tugged at her breasts.

Miranda was obviously a biter, but her mouth was soft and deceitfully gentle. Andrea grew more aroused with every nibble and kiss. She had been damp between her legs even in the park, from their first kiss, but this prolonged foreplay was beginning to cause a mini flood.

Miranda finally gave in to her restless hands, and submitted to having her slip and bra removed and thrown right away across the bed. Now things were more evenly matched. Andrea at least could do some worshipping of her own, even as Miranda's self-confidence came into play. She was a bossy, almost jaunty lover once she realised Andrea truly enjoyed every move, every touch, every kiss, every tickle.

She pulled down Andrea's underwear and dropped the panties on the floor, noting with pleasure how damp they were. She then slid her right knee between the girl's legs and pushed them wider apart so she could rest her head on her belly, and begin to explore the silky softness of her inner thighs. She kissed Andrea's belly button, making her squeal and then with one finger began to draw circles round the curls at the edge of her sex.

"Thank God you haven't had a Brazilian", she muttered.

"Do you like . . ?"

"I love it. It's mine. I am going to tend it carefully like a little garden. You can't see it like I can. It will be my own little flower patch."

Miranda scooted further down the bed until her head rested on the curls. She very gently opened Andrea's outer lips and then as light as a feather licked her clit so it leaped into the air like a thing possessed.

Andrea squealed. "Oh my god. " She began to buck her hips against Miranda's cheekbone.

"You are so wet," Miranda was enjoying the power she had to give Andrea such an arousal. It reassured her even more that she was in the right place, doing the right thing. She licked further, teasing and tempting, learning the geography of Andrea's sexual landscape.

The girl was so near to orgasm, she was panting and pleading, but Miranda wanted the lovely business of bringing her to climax to last as long as possible. She penetrated, then withdrew, then penetrated further, then kissed the labia and retreated even further to kiss the hip bone, the so soft belly.

"Miranda, Goddammit!"

She relented and put one finger deep inside, feeling for the G spot.

"More! Deeper!"

Andrea was now tossing on the bed in a frenzy.

Miranda obliged, adding two more fingers and thrusting as hard as she dared without hurting her lover. It took just three more hard moves, with the weight of her body behind them until Andrea's juice flooded again, and she came in a screaming orgasm which rocked them both.

It took several long seconds before Andrea could recover, and Miranda took advantage of her collapse to swoop back up her body and connect their mouths in a full-on French kiss.

Andrea could taste herself in Miranda's mouth. Her orgasm was still riding out in waves as her internal muscles flexed and relaxed. Miranda was right. This was perfect communication. They might be opposites, but their bodies were a perfect match.

"You're a screamer," Miranda chuckled and smiled. "I am in bed with a screamer. That will certainly cut down our vacation options in the future."

Andrea panted. "I've never screamed before. It's what you do to me. I've never felt like that before. You are amazing." It was the first time she had had sex with a woman, and she couldn't understand why she hadn't realised it could give such intense pleasure.

She lay on the comforter which was now seriously damp and pulled Miranda into a cuddle against her.

"Wait a moment," Miranda whispered, as she raised her body and threw back the comforter. There was a silky cotton sheet and a light blanket beneath it, and she manoeuvred them both beneath the lighter covers so that they could lie together in comfort. Her head lay on Andrea's chest, and she began once again to kiss and caress her breasts and neck bones.

Andrea tingled all over. With a small encouragement she knew she could come again. But she was so grateful for the gift she'd just received, but she wanted to give Miranda a similar experience.

"What about you? Let me make love to you. "

"I'm fine." The answer was almost abrupt, but Andy wasn't giving up so easily. Verbally arguing with Miranda usually ended in complete defeat, so she used deeds rather than words.

She started by running her fingers through the silver hair next to her chin, and then built up the movements into something like a full Indian head massage. Miranda purred like a cat having its ears rubbed. She began to relax into Andrea's arms, and her arms tightened around her waist as she stopped her own kissing.

Andrea suddenly tossed her over before she could complain so she was lying face down on the bed, her head now resting on the pillow. She lay her body over the top of the older woman, and lying hip to hip, breast to shoulder blades she continued gently massaging Miranda's head.

"Like that?" she murmured. There was a faint moan in answer, which Andrea took as permission to continue. Her fingers tickled the nape of Miranda's neck and then she slipped down the sheets slightly so she could continue the massage on her spine, shoulders and ribs.

"Do you have any body cream?"

"Hmm. In the drawer by the bed."

Andrea reached over and fumbled in the drawer until she found a large tube of Elizabeth Arden cream. It smelled of summer flowers, and she shook it and then squirted a generous amount on to Miranda's spine. The sudden feel of the cold cream made her bounce in the bed, but she didn't complain. Andrea sat back on her heels, resting on Miranda's beautiful ass, and then began a full back massage. She exulted in the freedom to touch Miranda's body, exploring her backbone, her ribs, the curve of her waist and hips. Then she moved south, removed the satin thong which passed as underwear on Miranda, and began to smooth more cream into the pretty backside before her.

Miranda seemed in heaven. All talk of being the driver for the entire trip had ceased. Andrea's fingers dipped further below Miranda's butt into the curving crease at the top of her thighs. She had turned so she was now sitting firmly on top of her lover, facing away from her head, but pinioning her in place, between her legs.

As she massaged Miranda's thighs with the cream, her touch became more sensual. She let her breasts skim across Miranda's legs, and dropped feathery kisses onto the erogenous areas behind her knees and inside her thighs.

Miranda began to groan, but Andrea wouldn't release her. She bent forward and kissed the feet, still under the covers, and discovered to her pleasure that Miranda had ticklish toes, where she could wreak revenge for the earlier assault.

Finally when she knew Miranda was completely turning to mush, she whispered gently but fiercely, "Now turn over and I'll do your front."

She was on hands and knees and sufficiently lifted up to allow Miranda to turn on the bed so that she was completely exposed. Miranda's eyes were initially closed, but as Andrea, giving herself another generous dollop of body cream, began to gently but firmly massage her breasts, she opened them to register her passion and arousal. Her breathing grew shallower and faster as the massage continued across both breasts and round the collar bone. When Andrea followed her hands with her mouth, giving little kisses across Miranda's chest, she could feel her begin to rock rhythmically under her hand and start to pant.

"Inside, please . . . "Miranda pleaded, and grabbed Andrea's right hand, pulling it down.

"May I?"

"Yes! Touch me inside"

Andrea's fingers slipped so easily inside Miranda who was easily as wet as she'd been herself. She began to explore the beautiful silky folds and channels. This was a new sport. She had never actually done this before to any woman, but she followed the rule of doing to her lover just what she'd enjoyed being done to her.

Miranda's clit was swollen so she could find and hold it easily. She flicked it teasingly with her finger which caused Miranda to growl and bite against Andrea's shoulder in response. Andrea responded by pinching her clit as a tiny punishment. Then her two middle fingers penetrated deeper, while her thumb kept pressure on the outside lips.

Miranda was now clearly on the way to an orgasm and Andrea knew all she had to do was maintain the stimulation and rock with her as she climaxed. For Miranda, it happened as naturally as a flower opening.

Her blood-flow surged through her sexual organs, another flow of sex liquid escaped and the most glorious sensation of colour, full of gold and reds, swirled through her head and surrounded her brain. She felt truly free. She soared, and then slowly returned to earth, satiated.

"Wow." She muttered, a word not usually in her vocabulary.

"Wow indeed." echoed Andrea.

They lay in each other's arms for several minutes. Then Miranda said quietly.

"Would you believe me if I told you I had never climaxed like that before?"

"If that's so, then I would say it was a crying shame. You are so sexy, so beautiful. I have just decided I will spend the rest of my life, giving you pleasure as much as I am able, so you can have as many orgasms as you want from now on."

Andrea snuggled closer. Miranda's body smelt divine, of the perfume from the cream, and of sex. She cuddled Andrea against her whole naked body.

"I love you. You give me joy. It was so natural, so easy in the end. And all it took was your touch."

Then Miranda gently smoothed the chestnut hair back from Andrea's face, ran her fingers through the tangled waves as they spread across the pillow, and placing one hand against her cheek pulled her face round towards her for another kiss.


	5. Chapter 5

The Touch Chapter 5.

Nigel Kipling walked from the elevator into the corridors of Runway magazine on the first Monday in December at 8.15 and cheerfully breathed in the air of bustle and activity he enjoyed so much. The hallways and offices were full of young people, talented, enthusiastic young people, who by and large, loved what they did, and worked damn hard to please him, and his Editor in Chief, daunting challenge as that was.

Racks of Summer dresses were blocking the passage ways as the various editors prepared for the next scheduled issue's conception stage, and he saw the usual pile of large brown envelopes in his In-tray, containing no doubt more approaches from young photographers hoping to get a chance to show their wares. Runway was his home, his natural metier, and he loved it.

But today he also wanted to follow up the little soap-opera he had launched before the weekend. How had the "girls" fared? He hadn't dared call either of them to check up.

His assistant art editor Emily wasn't at her desk, which was a worrying sign, but she flew round the door of the art studio within minutes, her heels clattering on the hard floors. Her makeup was in full-on crazy bright turquoise mode.

"Bloody typical! That stupid girl Andrea. I knew she would ruin everything."

"Hey, what's up now?" Nigel hung up his coat and turned a little nervously.

"She hasn't just gone and got herself fired again! Honestly. I could murder her. Just as I was beginning to settle in here, Miranda called me last night and asked me to cover the first assistant's post for the rest of the week. She wants new assistants recruited and fully trained before Christmas. Apparently Miss Sachs is no longer with us, again!"

"Did Miranda give any reasons?"

"Huh, as if I'd dare ask! Some latest fuck-up, no doubt. She might tell you. I thought she might have warned you, because this will affect you as well as me. I just can't manage three jobs!"

Emily's fury prevented her from bursting into tears, as frequently happened. Swearing like a pirate was her go-to stress release. For her it was a more productive way of handling her crazy life than collapsing with a sodden pile of tissues.

"Oh and Miranda did say for you to pop in to her office, when you arrived."

Nigel liked the way Emily said "pop in". It was a British turn of phrase he was sure Miranda had not used.

"I'll go now. Don't worry. H.R. have a bank of hopefuls, just waiting to be called up. You know, ' a million girls would kill for that job . . . ' ." He laughed, but hoped his optimism about the reasons for Andy's disappearance was justified.

Miranda stood with her back to him as he tapped on her office door and entered. She was looking out at the New York skyline, in one of her favorite poses by the plate glass windows. She wore a burgundy knit dress which fitted her body exactly from shoulder to hem. He was as gay as an extended family of jaybirds, but even to him she exuded . . , well, perhaps he should leave it at sex-appeal.

"Dare one enquire?" he began. "Emily informs me we have a vacancy here once more for two assistants."

Miranda turned. Her face told him nothing. She looked like a statue.

"Shut the door," she said.

He obeyed, wondering if his heart was going to sink.

When he returned though, Miranda drew him back with her towards the window, as far from the possibility of being overheard as the office could offer. They looked out at New York together. Whatever Miranda wished to say, it wasn't going to be a trivial matter of page placement or the wrong belt.

"It's going to be OK," she whispered. "You were right. She does love me, really love me. We've had such a wonderful weekend. I can't begin to tell you. And you're the only one who knows."

"I am so happy for you. Miranda, you deserve this. You deserve to know what joy is. I am sure you have found the right one at last. So where is she?"

"We agreed it will be impossible for her to carry on here. Work place relationships, power imbalance, Irv poking his nose in, everything. Besides, I would get no work done!

No, she's setting up an office to write at home. She has a backlog of writing projects she says she hadn't been able to finish in all the time she's been with Runway. She's tucked up in the townhouse, with Cara and the housekeeper to look after her. She's safe."

"And the twins? Have you told them anything?"

"Yes, they know Andrea will be living with us from now on. They are happy, and they could see I am happy. Nigel, she's so good with them. She can even understand their strange vocabulary and text language speak. We all had breakfast together and then she actually walked them to Dalton's.

"She says a morning walk is good for children and they trotted off with her without one complaint. She did a very creditable impersonation of Mary Poppins. Oh Nigel, she is glorious, she truly is."

"My, the weekend must have gone well. Where's our Ms. Cynical gone to? And how will you hide being so happy in front of your cowering workforce?

"You know, I really don't care. I am in a honeymoon period which may just last the rest of my life. Nigel, I owe you an immense debt of gratitude for nudging me along on Friday. I would never have had the courage if you hadn't seen what you did, if you hadn't just pushed me towards her."

Nigel smiled, and squeezed her hand. "Just don't melt too much Miranda. Where would we be without our Dragon, our Ice Queen? We have to keep the show on the road, remember."

"Yes. About that, I'm sorry I have had to call up Emily again. She is the only one here who can run my diary. You can have her back soon I promise."

"Emily is highly motivated to return to the Art department, so she'll train some new assistants for you as soon as possible, I'm sure. I presume she can stay on her present salary at least."

"Oh, yes, give the girl a bonus. She can draw three salaries for that matter! Maybe you should tell her Andrea has been seconded to other duties, not sacked. But I don't trust her not to spread word of this all through the whole building if she knows the truth. The girl loves to gossip at the best of times."

"When will you make the big reveal? Come out at the Christmas party maybe?"

"I'll agree to whatever makes Andrea comfortable. It is her reputation I want to protect, and the minimizing any upset for my girls of course. Andy has to tell her parents first, and I am sure they will send men in white coats round to collect her if I'm not careful. They must think I am mad, bad and dangerous to know. I'm not at all sure _I_ approve of myself, so why would they?"

"Stop beating yourself up. I know Andy has excellent taste in lovers, well, apart from cook-boy anyway. You'll make a stylish couple. I can't wait to dress you in matching outfits for your wedding!"

Miranda's eyebrows rose. "Such shallow ideas, Nigel, so disappointing." She couldn't resist a dig. "But, you can start helping me improve Andrea's wardrobe. She virtually only has the clothes she stands up in, and I'll have to release her from house arrest into the public arena before long. I so badly want to spoil her, but I can see I'll have to fight her into anything over $50 or other than Target. You will do it better than I"

"Leave it with me. The clothes she looked so good in before are still hanging together in the Closet."

"No, I don't want her to wear Runway cast-offs. Start with a 50K budget and choose a new wardrobe. I'm funding this."

"Shouldn't Andy have a say? She'll be cross if you don't let her feel she's involved in the decisions."

Miranda paused. "Yes, you're right. I'll call her and ask her which designers she prefers. "

Nigel skipped back to the Art Department. Their little conversation had made him so happy. He chuckled at Miranda's last comment. How things had moved on in the last year. That she should ask Andy the question about preferred designers at all was remarkable, and that Andy would know an answer to give, even more.

By Christmas, more and more of the staff had absorbed the new situation at Runway. Whispers round the building were that Miranda had a secret lover. Miranda was happy. Miranda was still horribly unpredictable at times, but she was actually behaving like a human being. Two new assistants began working together in the outer office, and found her a rational and informative boss. She arrived at 9am and left at 6pm. She arranged a courier service for the Book, so no-one apart from her worked until the small hours, or braved the streets at 11pm. A state of the art coffee machine was installed in the office suite, so wasted hours and broken heels running for Starbucks were a thing of the past. Word slowly got out that these innovations might have come from the influence of said secret lover.

By pure chance Emily discovered who this lover was, three days before Christmas. She remembered she'd promised Andy a drink, and felt a glimmer of seasonal affection for her. Heaven knew what the poor fool was doing for a living now, whether she had starved to death, or returned to Ohio. Emily thought she should find out.

She dialled Andy's personal cell phone. It was picked up at once, but there seemed to be a lot of noise in the background.

"Hi Emily, how's it going?" Andy obviously saw her name on the contact list as she answered.

"Would you like to meet up for a drink?"

"Sure, not tonight, it's the twins' school play. How about tomorrow?"

"Twins?"

"Oh, shoot." Then she was obviously turning her face away from the phone. "Cass, stop doing that to your sister. ! "

"Where are you? Are you at the town house? Are you working for Miranda there?" Emily's voice rose higher and higher with each question.

"Hmm. In a way. Oh well, meet me for a drink and I'll explain."

Emily was wracked with curiosity but refused to show it. She named their favorite bar near the Runway offices. "Tomorrow at seven."

Then she heard Andy murmur to someone else in the room. "Our kitten is about to escape from its little bag, darling. I'm so sorry." And the phone call ended.

It was like a scene from an old Bob Newhart comedy sketch as Andrea repeated her much rehearsed explanation to Emily of where she had been for the last two and a half weeks. Andy, dressed in a new sapphire blue winter coat from the current catalogue, and wrapping long legs round a bar stool, tried to keep them both on track as she confirmed, that yes she was living with Miranda and the twins, that no, she wasn't the cleaner but was indeed Miranda's significant other, and that yes, the ring on her left hand was an engagement ring. They planned to get married in May, 2005, in Massachusetts. Miranda had already bought a property in Provincetown where they could take quiet vacations in a gay-friendly environment.

Emily was an intelligent girl with two Master's degrees, but her brain refused to process the information. When it finally sank in, the swearing which came from her was most unladylike. She sounded like a squawking parrot rescued from a most unsavoury pirate ship. Andy let the storm ride out.

"Be happy for us, Em. I'm hoping you'll be my bridesmaid, if not Miranda's." The squawking eventually subsided into mutterings and teeth grinding. "You can even organise the wedding. Miranda was impressing on me how good you are at events management." The magic words worked like a charm.

Calm was eventually restored and Emily began to talk of the best way to manage the press release and inevitable fallout from the news. She admitted to herself how Andrea seemed well, scandalously well. In fact she no longer looked at all like the sleep deprived wraith she had been after Paris. She positively glowed with good health and happiness.

Then, as they stirred their Manhattans, in Manhattan, Andrea couldn't resist. "Do you remember when you asked if I expected Miranda to tuck me up in bed and read me a bed-time story? Well, we are both seriously running out of good books. Any suggestions?"

The ensuing swear words she heard in reply made her laugh out loud.

Epilogue.

The Met Gala in May 2019 was one of the most extravagant displays of New York fashion in years. The stars were out in force, and the celebrities were wowing the crowds on the red carpet as they went past the banks of TV cameras, and blossom filled piles of pink roses.

Miranda Priestly was there as always, her iconic silver hair copied but never quite matched by many of the younger women whose admiration kept her firmly on the A list. It was her final year as Editor of Runway, but she looked as young and almost as fit as she had fifteen years before. She carried a little more weight that she had in middle-age, but it suited her and stopped her face showing any wrinkles. Her ankles were as slim and her posture as erect as ever. She had such an innate sense of style that her dress, her jewellery and her make-up always perfectly complemented each other. Tonight she wore a shimmering gold gown, with off the shoulder bodice, covered in part by a gold and silver stole. It was distinctive and several people asked her who the designer was.

Her hand, as she exited the car, and climbed the steps to the Gala, remained firmly in the grasp of her companion, life partner and wife, a brunette beauty whose smile remained as wide, and with hair as luxuriant, as the day they had first met. It was still untamed, already slipping out of its supposedly formal designer look, despite the hairdresser's best efforts with hair spray and bobby pins.

Andrea tonight wore a multi coloured, sequinned dress, chosen for her as usual by Miranda, who took her responsibilities as family wardrobe mistress very seriously. Andrea happily relinquished all responsibility for what she wore in public to her wife. Her mind was usually on other things after all.

She had produced books and babies in alternate years over the last decade, but neither showed on her face or figure. She was now on the fiction best-seller list, and still managed to run their family of five children.

At least Cassidy and Caroline were both now grown and launched into professions, the former working at NASA, as a junior scientist, while she also completed her PhD, having developed an unusual passion for Astro-physics before she finished high school.

"Remember the ping-pong ball planetarium you made for us when we were ten?" she had teased Andy. "It started me off. I owe everything to you!"

Caroline had followed her Mom into art and fashion, and after graduating was now apprenticed to a designer in Milan. She came home regularly with ever increasing prowess in Italian swearwords, and a growing confidence in her own designs. Her mother wore one of Caroline's designs tonight, quietly bursting with pride, whenever she was complimented on it.

Their three younger children, two sisters and little brother, were home, hopefully already fast asleep in bed. Andrea kept her Iphone on vibration in her bag just in case, but she didn't anticipate any domestic crisis. Cara, the Nanny, was rock solidly reliable, and had been with the family now for twenty-five years.

Having two Moms instead of a Dad never fazed any of the children. They all still called the town-house home. It was so convenient for Dalton's, the Manhattan fashion quarter, and the park in which to walk the dogs.

Patricia had eventually been replaced as the family pet by two Bichon Frieze bitches, which Andrea said reminded her of little Mirandas, both in the manic way they rushed around and ordered everyone about, and in the hours they spent at the doggy hairdressers to remain immaculate. Unlike Patricia, they were small enough to sit on the sofa in the family room, watching _"It's me or the dog,"_ and hopefully learning something.

Tonight was very special because Miranda and Andrea were celebrating their fourteenth year of marriage the same weekend, and the Gala gave them an opportunity to show the world just how stable and contented their partnership remained.

They wanted to stress this, for they were icons of New York's gay community and exemplified such a happy union, that they'd charmed many of the most truculent conservatives in public life. Even Andy's folks back home in Ohio had eventually grown very fond of Miranda, and attended their wedding in force. Her parents adored all the children so much, they braved the New York traffic regularly in order to stay with them there and up in Provincetown.

Nigel, already ensconced at the Runway table with his friends, watched them enter and approach with familiar pride. As he saw Miranda seat Andrea first, and then gently touch her cheek in order to smooth back a curl, he remembered how it had all started. Miranda dropped a kiss on Andrea's neck. Nigel smiled a small secret smile, and offered them the wine list. "2004 was a very good year," he murmured. Miranda smiled back at him. "It was, it most certainly was, Nigel."

The End.


End file.
